much wider than in the City, and better swept, but Beatrice couldn’t help noticing that most of the shoppers who were walking up and down them were very unfashionably dressed. Most of the men still wore full wigs and ankle-length coats, and only a few of the women wore wide-hooped farthingales.
Their labouring horses pulled them slowly uphill, with the coachman occasionally wheezing ‘ Wup ! Wup !’ to them, without much optimism. They reached High Town and then turned up towards Pinfold Street where cousin Sarah lived. As they turned, she pointed out a grand baroque church on the crest of the hill, built in gleaming white limestone. ‘That is where we worship, Beatrice. St Philip’s. You will be able to say prayers there for your poor papa.’
Beatrice gave her a fleeting smile, although she didn’t need to go to church to say prayers for her father. She spoke to him all the time, wherever she was, inside her head – and he spoke back to her. She could still hear his voice, and hear him laugh.
They drew up outside cousin Sarah’s three-storey house, in the middle of a terrace of five brick-fronted houses which faced directly on to the street.
‘Here,’ said cousin Sarah, as Jeremy helped them down from the carriage. ‘This will be your home now, Beatrice, for the rest of your life.’
*
Although the house looked narrow and nondescript from the outside, it was spacious inside, with high ceilings and tall windows that looked out over a small apple orchard at the back. Cousin Sarah showed Beatrice the parlour, with its formal furniture and chiming ormolu clock and slightly distorting mirror over the fireplace. Then she took her into the dining room, with its shiny mahogany table and empty shield-back chairs, and finally into the kitchen, where a fat, black-haired woman in a long white apron was perspiring freely and boiling up a leg of mutton in a large black pot.
‘This is Elizabeth,’ said cousin Sarah. ‘Elizabeth, this is Beatrice. I am sure the poor girl must be hungry after her journey. Perhaps you would cut her some gammon, and some slices of bread, and pickled onions.’
Elizabeth lifted up her apron and buried her face in it to mop up the perspiration. When she dropped it again she said, ‘I’ve yet to start the fish soup, Mrs Minchin.’
‘You’ll manage, Elizabeth,’ cousin Sarah replied, although Beatrice thought that it sounded more like an order than an expression of confidence. ‘Besides, when she is rested, and changed, Beatrice will assist you. Our scullery maid, Jane, is away this week in Edgbaston for her mother’s funeral, and our housemaid, Agnes, is out shopping. You can peel potatoes, can’t you, Beatrice? And your mama must have shown you how to set a table.’
They left the kitchen. Beatrice glanced back and saw Elizabeth scowling as she ladled the scum with a slotted spoon from the surface of the boiling mutton. ‘Come along, Beatrice,’ said cousin Sarah. ‘I will show you to your room.’
They climbed the main staircase until they reached the landing. Cousin Sarah touched the tip of her finger to her lips and then pointed to the door on the left-hand side. ‘That is Roderick’s room. We are always very quiet when we go past Roderick’s room.’
She paused, and when she saw that Beatrice didn’t understand what she was talking about, she said, ‘Roderick, my husband. Your cousin-in-law. Not long after Jeremy was born he was kicked in the head by a horse and since then he has suffered from a very unpredictable demeanour. So we do our best not to disturb him.’
‘I see,’ said Beatrice, although she couldn’t imagine what cousin Sarah meant by ‘a very unpredictable demeanour’.
They climbed another staircase, steeper and narrower. On the topmost floor there were two large bedrooms and a much smaller room, facing the back of the house.
‘Oliver’s room and Charles’s room,’ said cousin Sarah, opening the doors to both the larger rooms. ‘They are
Their labouring horses pulled them slowly uphill, with the coachman occasionally wheezing ‘ Wup ! Wup !’ to them, without much optimism. They reached High Town and then turned up towards Pinfold Street where cousin Sarah lived. As they turned, she pointed out a grand baroque church on the crest of the hill, built in gleaming white limestone. ‘That is where we worship, Beatrice. St Philip’s. You will be able to say prayers there for your poor papa.’
Beatrice gave her a fleeting smile, although she didn’t need to go to church to say prayers for her father. She spoke to him all the time, wherever she was, inside her head – and he spoke back to her. She could still hear his voice, and hear him laugh.
They drew up outside cousin Sarah’s three-storey house, in the middle of a terrace of five brick-fronted houses which faced directly on to the street.
‘Here,’ said cousin Sarah, as Jeremy helped them down from the carriage. ‘This will be your home now, Beatrice, for the rest of your life.’
*
Although the house looked narrow and nondescript from the outside, it was spacious inside, with high ceilings and tall windows that looked out over a small apple orchard at the back. Cousin Sarah showed Beatrice the parlour, with its formal furniture and chiming ormolu clock and slightly distorting mirror over the fireplace. Then she took her into the dining room, with its shiny mahogany table and empty shield-back chairs, and finally into the kitchen, where a fat, black-haired woman in a long white apron was perspiring freely and boiling up a leg of mutton in a large black pot.
‘This is Elizabeth,’ said cousin Sarah. ‘Elizabeth, this is Beatrice. I am sure the poor girl must be hungry after her journey. Perhaps you would cut her some gammon, and some slices of bread, and pickled onions.’
Elizabeth lifted up her apron and buried her face in it to mop up the perspiration. When she dropped it again she said, ‘I’ve yet to start the fish soup, Mrs Minchin.’
‘You’ll manage, Elizabeth,’ cousin Sarah replied, although Beatrice thought that it sounded more like an order than an expression of confidence. ‘Besides, when she is rested, and changed, Beatrice will assist you. Our scullery maid, Jane, is away this week in Edgbaston for her mother’s funeral, and our housemaid, Agnes, is out shopping. You can peel potatoes, can’t you, Beatrice? And your mama must have shown you how to set a table.’
They left the kitchen. Beatrice glanced back and saw Elizabeth scowling as she ladled the scum with a slotted spoon from the surface of the boiling mutton. ‘Come along, Beatrice,’ said cousin Sarah. ‘I will show you to your room.’
They climbed the main staircase until they reached the landing. Cousin Sarah touched the tip of her finger to her lips and then pointed to the door on the left-hand side. ‘That is Roderick’s room. We are always very quiet when we go past Roderick’s room.’
She paused, and when she saw that Beatrice didn’t understand what she was talking about, she said, ‘Roderick, my husband. Your cousin-in-law. Not long after Jeremy was born he was kicked in the head by a horse and since then he has suffered from a very unpredictable demeanour. So we do our best not to disturb him.’
‘I see,’ said Beatrice, although she couldn’t imagine what cousin Sarah meant by ‘a very unpredictable demeanour’.
They climbed another staircase, steeper and narrower. On the topmost floor there were two large bedrooms and a much smaller room, facing the back of the house.
‘Oliver’s room and Charles’s room,’ said cousin Sarah, opening the doors to both the larger rooms. ‘They are
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